


Bruce Wayne vs The KKK

by Trista_zevkia



Series: Platonic [22]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Superman/Batman (Comics), World's Finest (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bible, Blow Jobs, Explicit Language, Forced Marriage, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Name-Calling, Proceed with caution, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, sex position with no name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 13:44:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6378178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trista_zevkia/pseuds/Trista_zevkia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says in the title. </p><p>For a good time, google Superman Vs. The Klan, about how the radio show was used to tell the world just how stupid the klan was, and actually almost destroyed the klan. Here's the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Adventures_of_Superman_%28radio%29#.E2.80.9CClan_of_the_Fiery_Cross.E2.80.9D"> Wikipedia Article </a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Bruce Wayne vs The KKK

Superman casually strolled through the Watchtower, as if he had a day off and nothing planned. He stopped to talk to with members of the League, but didn't take them up on their offers of sparring or food, anything that took him off the path he was on. The only one who would have noticed this oddity, was on monitor duty and mostly focused on things outside the Watchtower. Oddly enough, Superman's path eventually leads him there, peering over Batman's armored shoulder at the monitor.

"Something catch your eye?" Batman asked in a flat voice, one that could easily become angry if Superman wasn't here for official business. 

"Just checking that all was calm. Need to borrow, I don't know, about ten percent of your concentration." Superman smiled as he straightened, even though Batman didn't glance at Superman's reflection in the screens. 

"Ten percent." Batman stated, which Superman took for permission. 

"Have you heard about the Southern Inclusive Pride event this weekend?" 

"Out of my jurisdiction." Batman answered about four questions beyond the one Superman had actually asked. Yes, I've heard about it, I've studied the threats, I think it is an issue but I can't go hang out in the woods for a weekend because Gotham. 

"The JL covers the planet and quite a bit of space, so jurisdiction isn't really an issue, but I didn't expect you to patrol. Can you even climb a tree?" 

"Yes." Batman's answer was succinct, and typical, so Superman knew to keep talking, not bothering to wait for more from him. 

"A good reporter we both know has determined the threats against the group, which covers three states, is a target for hate groups from all three states. So, I was going to head down for the weekend." 

"Call for backup if you need it." Batman ordered, though there was a question in there, namely, why are you talking to me if you've got it covered? 

"Well, the people in the group, and anyone brave enough to attend, they could use some encouragement to counteract the hostility. 

Batman tilted his head to better see Superman out of the corner of his eye. To be fair, positivity and encouragement weren't really things Batman was known for. 

"It occurred to me that they could really use a celebrity spokesperson. Someone rich and famous enough to get them national attention in the news." 

"I could hack George Takei's twitter feed and get you his phone number." 

"His support of equal rights is a given and not really news worthy anymore." Superman winced at that as if embarrassed about the state of modern journalism. "Sorry." 

Batman tapped a single finger against the arm rest once, an order for Superman to get on with it. 

"A rich, famous businessman who has never officially come out as bisexual would make more news than another fight for civil rights." Superman blurted out, finally. 

"Cynicism is my job." Batman responded, turning at last to look at Superman. 

"Modern news; if it bleeds it leads." 

"And doesn't a Gothamite going down to Georgia sound like a new country music sensation? Something about Yankee aggression?" 

"Maybe, but that could just mean the kkk would go after you, instead of the LBGT youth." Superman shrugged. "Saturday night, twenty minute speech, and he'll be back in town before you even leave for patrol." 

Batman sighed and turned back to the bank of monitors. "I'll make the arrangements." 

Knowing a Bat-dismissal when he received one, Superman strolled out of the monitor womb. All the same, he didn't let the smile break out on his face until he heard Batman answer an incoming call from Shiera. 

sB _Sb_ Bs

The event wasn't as bad as Bruce had expected. He had trained himself to think of crowds as trouble, as civilian shield for bad guys or even mind-controlled cannon fodder. Flamboyant, loud, drunken crowds were the worst, shifting from a party to a mob quicker than he could change suits. Instead of the solid weekend of drinking like Gotham Octoberfest, individuals here had to bring in their own beer, so the drinking was spread out over the weekend. The trees and open skyline cut down on the noise. Some of the crowd was still flamboyant, but they were still rednecks, so less gold lame and more pink camouflage. Bruce let his escort talk as they walked to their destination, and just observed the relaxed atmosphere. 

Instead of an auditorium or theater, the state park had an open air amphitheater. Large flat stones had been sunk into a natural bowl shape in the earth. People could sit directly on them, or bring up chairs or cushions to sit on. If it rained, people would get wet, but the early spring weather was staying dry for this weekend. The bowl shape helped the person in the bottom of the bowl be heard through natural acoustics, but the organization had dug up an antique battery powered microphone on a stand, just to make sure they could be heard. 

Bruce carefully took in where most people were sitting, and found the press box, which was a couple of stone steps marked as separate by colored chalk. Clark was there, talking to a white woman with dreadlocks, both of them very relaxed. Clark smiled when he made eye contact, his flannel and jeans helping him blend in with the crowd around him. And the tight jeans made a tempting target for anyone attracted to the male form. Bruce only rolled his eyes at Clark before tuning in to listen to the speaker before him. Eventually, though, that person stopped talking about how to be more proactive in their hometown communities, and Brucie was called to the stage. 

Brucie smiled and waved at the crowd, as he would for any crowd back home, but the reaction only just qualified as polite. He knew it was a mistake for him to intrude on their event. 

"Howdy folks!" Brucie started, noticing more than a few eye rolls at the misplaced pandering; this was the South, not the mid-west. Making a decision, Bruce forgot the speech Alfred had worked so hard to write for him. 

"For those of you who don't know me; I'm a city boy." That got some good-natured boos out of the audience, or at least Bruce took them that way. "And a northerner." Boos started up again, turning into laughter, assuring Bruce they were well-intended. 

"Not my fault where I was born!" Brucie held up his hands in surrender. More laughter, and he lowered his hands before waiting on them to settle before speaking more. 

"In the big, modern city, nobody has time to care who you love. I could introduce myself as pansexual and I'm as likely to get into a discussion about what that means as get insulted for being whatever that is. Outside of few safe spaces, I've heard that you run a gauntlet of risks for even knowing what that means. I've been told I'm going to hell, but not because of who I've taken to bed. Most of you have had hateful words thrown at you, and more than a few have suffered physical violence. Some aren't with us tonight because they've been killed for being themselves. There is something wrong with the world where that happens, not with you." 

Brucie had to stop talking for a round of applause, so he risked a glance at Clark. His solar powered smile made Bruce blink before he looked away. 

"I'm not a movie star or anything, I'm just famous for my family's money, so I never thought about coming out. What would it matter who I dated, other than it gives the gossip rags something to talk about. I guess that's a perfect example of privilege, that I can do what I want without repercussions. And it took me an embarrassing long time to realize it wasn't that way for everybody, that my privileges weren't only because of my money. That's why I came down here, imposed myself on your organization, interfering with your weekend. I wanted, no needed, to thank you for being brave." 

Bruce paused, but there was no reaction from the crowd; they probably thought he was still pandering to them. Nothing for it but to push on. 

"I've heard of people being kicked out of their families for coming out, or being beaten by their parents. And then there's what the public will do to you. You know all about that, how you think your family will react, how your community will react, and yet you still stand up and admit to the truth. That is being a hero in your own time, bravery in a scary world. Some people aren't that brave, and they are relying on you to ease the way for them. Besides being brave, you are also kind, and I know you will fight these battles and not begrudge the ones that come out in a safer world. It probably doesn't mean anything, and yes, I'll be throwing money at the cause, but this privileged brat appreciates what you've done, and what you'll go on to ..." 

Bruce stopped, mostly out of words, but the figures in white were really eye catching. The assault rifles they held were painted in camouflaged, but still very visible against the white robes and dunce caps. Most everybody in the amphitheater had turned to look, whispering in fear to each other. 

The klansmen were attempting to march down into the bowl in a v-formation. It would have looked intimidating, but the wide steps of the amphitheater made them kind of hop down, and spread them out like a bunch of drunk geese. Really, only guns kept them from being laughed at. There were all sorts of cameras here, on the participants and the press, but the masked men probably thought they wouldn't be identifiable in their robes. As such, they could easily start shooting at the crowd, forcing Clark to out his secret identity. But even then, there might be too many people here for Superman to protect alone. 

If the mask wasn't ripped from Batman's head, Brucie could still deny his association with the vigilante, and lie about having taken self-defense for millionaires, so Bruce made the decision to act if needed. That was an easy calculation to make, so Bruce started looking around, finding the mistakes in their formation. They didn’t seem to have a big enough group to even put sentries on the top of the amphitheater, and when they got to the bottom of the bowl they would be surrounded. Distractions would be especially useful, so all this situation was someone stupid enough to attract attention. 

"If this is some sort of cosplay, I'm really not feeling it." 

All of the hoods turned to face Brucie for saying such a thing, even those that didn't understand it. Behind them, a couple of civilians slipped up a step, closer to the exit. That was good, as observant civilians helping with their own escape could speed this up. And nobody would realize Kent disappeared as Superman dropped in. 

"Wait a minute," Brucie frowned with all the authority of the fashion police behind his scowl. "You're wearing white, but I'm not sure if it is before or after Labor Day. When is it okay to wear white, since it's always after some Labor Day or the other? Though, to be fair, I think those outfits would be too much at any time." 

Someone tittered, a high-pitched, nervous giggle of disbelief at Brucie's words, but his main audience glared through their little eyeholes. The guy with green stripes on his sleeves stepped forward, reaching for the microphone. Brucie smiled helpfully and handed over the device, pole and all, with only a tiny amount of fumbling. Green sleeves grabbed the microphone and jerked back as he received the best shock four half dead AA batteries could provide. Not much of a shock at all, but Bruce found it satisfying. 

"Whoa, what'd you do to that thing?" Brucie asked. Greensleeves was probably snarling under his hood, but the mask diminished the power of the gesture, so Brucie could look at him in all innocence. Brucie clearly had no idea how to sabotage a garage sale microphone, thought he could afford to replace it if the owner protested. 

Ignoring the newly dead microphone, Greensleeves began to talk, making sure his voice was heard with a skill that suggested he had plenty of practice in talking to large groups. Could just be rallies, or it could be an indicator of his job. Bruce made a note of it, and reluctantly paid attention to the words he was shouting. 

"We came to save your souls, from the hellfire that awaits at the end of your deviant lives. Do not let this city boy lead you into his pit of sin and misery, for the wages of sin is eternal damnation." 

"I thought the wages of sin was death?" Brucie asked, loud enough to be heard, but still innocently confused. The hoods were trying to watch their hostages, but now they were shooting glances at Brucie. Just a little more annoyance would keep their attention, so more people could escape. 

Greensleeves recovered quickest but still all he responded with was a confused, "What?" 

"The wages of sin is death. Romans 6.23." 

"Do you see, people?" Greensleeves responded to the crowd, instead of Brucie's quotation. "As the good book says, even the Devil himself can quote the Bible!" 

"I didn't realize Shakespeare wrote the Bible." Brucie offered quickly, happily. And that got all sorts of eyes on him, so he finished the quote. 

“The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.  
An evil soul producing holy witness  
Is like a villain with a smiling cheek,  
A goodly apple rotten at the heart.  
O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!”  
“The Merchant of Venice." Brucie gave a polite bow to the crowd of hoods for his epic recitation. 

Greensleeves again rallied the fastest, but with a not so subtle subject change. "Leviticus 18:22 Thou shall not lie with a man as with a woman; it is an abomination." 

"Leviticus 18:6 through 18:19, don't have sex with relatives. Sounds like God was much more insistent that you didn't have sex with relatives than some man on man action. And he didn't even mention related man on related man, so it's not queers that are incestuous pedophiles." Brucie's expression showed just how much thinking hurt him. "And there was even something in Leviticus about not sacrificing your children to a pagan god. You'd think an all knowing God would know he wouldn't need that verse in modern times, but he left it in the Bible." 

The punch was slow and clumsy, emotionally based and easy to track in the low light because of the green satin stripes on the sleeves. Bruce rolled with it, so the guy did connect but it didn't hurt Bruce at all. 

"Smart mouthed little fag aren't you?" Greensleeve's snarl was in his voice this time, and Bruce hadn't even started to mess with his head. 

"I'm bigger than you, and pansexual, but thank you for calling me smart! Nobody else ever has." Brucie confided with a flirty smile. 

The second punch was sloppier, so Bruce let himself dodge this one by stepping back and ducking his head as if suddenly shy, as if hadn’t even see the punch coming. "You're very sweet." 

The grand wizened old geezer reached for his thigh holster, only to find the gun was on the inside of his white robes. Bruce visibly watched him fumble for it, before finally remembering the semi-automatic slung across his chest. It wasn't often Brucie got to look at people like they were too stupid to breathe without help, but he enjoyed it when he did. 

"I am the Exalted Cyclops ... " Greensleeves began, but Bruce laughed. 

That wasn't planned, or a Brucie titter, but a full belly laugh that Bruce couldn't remember the last time he'd used. Here was an adult, hiding behind a sheet, pretending he was dangerous and important because his title was exalted cyclops. 

"Sorry," Bruce managed to get Brucie to say, "but that seriously sounds like something a guy would name his dick." 

The amphitheater got very quiet, and Bruce knew every eye in the place was on him. "Oh, my god, when you get promoted, do you become the ejaculating cyclops?" 

Boots stomped closer as Bruce let himself laugh at their ridiculousness some more. 

"Is it true that you change words to start with a kl, to match your initials? Doesn't that sound like a secret code for six year olds? Your attorneys as not counsel, they're klonsul. What about a coffee klatsch? Would that be a kloffee klatsch with a kl or a cl in klatsch?" Bruce didn't quite finish laughing because of the gun barrel in his face, but he looked like he was trying. Wiping at the non-existent tears of laughter in his eyes allowed him to see the red and blue blurs that had mostly emptied out the amphitheater, so the Flash was helping Clark. 

"My twelve terrors are going to teach you to respect the klan, fag, but that'll be paradise compared to what waits for you down below." Greensleeves was heading for his stride, practice getting him back into the flow of words he'd so often said. 

Bruce knew he needed to stop that before the rest of the sheet-heads remembered they had hostages and turned away from him, so he listened to every hate-filled word to find his opening. 

"We had a chance, slim though it was, to save some souls tonight, to turn those unmolested few back to the path of righteousness, but the devil sent you and your slick words to lead them away from that path. Satan will welcome you with red hot tools ..." 

Brucie snapped his fingers and pointed directly into Greensleeves's face. " _Muppet Treasure Island_!" 

In the corner of his eye, Bruce saw a red figure pause, long enough that he could identify it was the Flash before Flash moved on. That segue had even managed to distract the Flash, so it took the klan a while to reboot. 

"What?" Brucie didn't see which one finally spoke, but he answered as if it was Greensleeves. 

"That quote is from _Muppet Treasure Island_! Long John Silver's been tied up by the pirate Muppets and he scares them with Satan's red hot pokers so they let him go. Was that not what you were quoting? Sorry, kloting?" 

"The Muppets are banned from all good Christian households! I made the mistake of letting my grandchildren watch that movie, where I was forced to witness the abomination of bestiality." 

"It only hinted at Long John and Miss Piggy doing more than kissing, but since you brought up bestiality, that's worse than being gay according to the Bible. It's a defilement of the soul, where homosexuality is only unnatural, and not mentioned near as much. That's what abomination means in the Bible, unnatural, but they've found lots of animals that develop homosexual partnerships, and you'd think an all knowing god would have known about that as well as the pagan god sacrifice thing going out of style." 

“Sinner, you claim to know all about the Bible, and yet you watch the filth of bestiality and all manner of pornography." 

"Ew, no, I have kids and the Muppets are funny and smart." 

"Kids to lure and groom for the depraved ..." 

"Don't." Bruce made an effort to pull back the Batman in his voice, to relax out of a fighting stance at the mere mention of his kids in this fucker's mouth. He was getting the wrong kind of attention with that growl of protectiveness, so he made his own awkward segue. 

"Don't even get started about single parents being terrible or whatever bullshit you were about to start shoveling. You assholes were the ones who made it so anybody could adopt before gay people, and then gay people could adopt but they couldn't marry so they had to be single or living in sin. Even if we do find the perfect person for us, you're still fighting to make it illegal for us to marry, again, so you've made a long term commitment impossible for many people." 

"We've tried, but Satan has this once great country in his sway. You can marry, but you persist in whoring around and trying to blame it on us, the ones who have worked so hard to bring you into God's plan." 

The robed reject was off again, no longer thinking about Bruce's kids. His gun moved around as he talked, but mostly stayed aimed at Bruce, so that was fine. His protective instinct was stupid, Bruce knew that. He could drop these guys, fully armed, in a room with any one of his unarmed kids and make millions off the video of them kicking their klan kl-asses, but when Greensleeves had started down that road , Bruce had to stop him. 

"Yeah, well, now I'm used to man-whoring, I've got a terrible reputation, and kids. You wouldn't marry a woman with those qualifications, so why should anyone marry a man like that?" Bruce was pretty sure feminism was another subject that could get this guy on a tangent, if needed. A voice told Bruce it wasn't needed, that the hostages were mostly safe, and the JL was ready to act, but not in so many words. 

"I'd marry him." 

Bruce looked to where Clark was standing, uncertain and awkward, getting better at acting all the time. Behind him, the press was the only section of the audience still in attendance, as they couldn't just set the cameras to record and leave. Of course, they were rather close to where Bruce was talking with the grand ejaculate, so more likely to be noticed if they were forcibly rescued. A tiny bit more of a distraction was needed, while the JL did their thing. Then Bruce would get his chance to break the nose of one-eyed mountain of putrescence. Scientifically, he'd never seen a blood stain emerge on a starched sheet before; might be forensically relevant someday. 

"Another queer had chosen the path of damnation!" 

"Pansexual, actually." Clark responded without fear. "I care more about a person's heart and soul than their genitalia." 

"Faggoty sinner covers all your perversions." 

"Yeah, the God of Love totally hates it when people love other people." Bruce snarked, forgetting for a moment that Brucie was too stupid to understand sarcasm. 

"Right, I'm sure if God wanted us to love our neighbors, he would have mentioned it in the Bible." Clark agreed with Bruce, as if the klan wasn’t there. Continuing to ignore them, Clark dropped the sarcasm to grin at Bruce. "You sure know the Bible." 

"Most prep schools have religious components." Bruce shrugged back. 

"Prep school?" The about-to-be-assaulted-monocle laughed. "Now we know where fancy boy learned to like it up the ass." 

"I was seven, and innocent. You're the adult who went from the Muppets to bestiality, and raising kids to sexual grooming." Bruce offed calmly, giving the klan a few long moments to realize what he'd just implied. 

Clark quickly stepped between Bruce and Greensleeves. "Please, end this now. We just want to live our lives." 

Clark was trying to reason with them, a plan Bruce had not even considered, but he figured the likelihood of it working was abysmally low. 

"You can't live your lives without throwing parades and shoving your queerness into my life. Can't watch a TV show without some gay boy prancing around, or you show up on the news demanding things. You couldn't live a normal life even with the man of your disgusting dreams!" 

An idea flashed behind the eyes of the hooded stiff one-eye but he didn't pull his gun away from Bruce, so Bruce let him have his idea. Probably the only original idea he'd ever thought of, so Bruce was kind of slightly curious as to what it might be. 

"You, pathetic fag." Greensleeves gestured to Clark with his free hand. "Tell me your name, your name that will never appear in the Lamb's book of life." 

"Clark Kent." He answered with just a dash of faint, false hesitation. "This is Wayne." Clark added with a nod to Bruce. 

So his last name was a common first name in these parts, why would Clark introduce him as such? Was Clark trying to protect Bruce's identity? Interesting, even if weird, because Bruce had been introduced to this crowd before he gave his speech, which the klan might have heard while they got their girdles on. Maybe Clark didn't want them to decide to take the mortal billionaire hostage, when the interfering nigh-immortal reporter was a much less annoying option. 

Holding his hand up high, Greensleeves began to add his own twist on some familiar words. "Do you, Clark Kent, take this butt-muncher to be your vile yet legally wedded husband in the deviant states of America?" 

Clark took a moment to swallow, and let the mutterings of the klan behind Greensleeves to quiet down, before offering a confused and scared response. "I do?" 

"Do you Wayne Kent, consign yourself to hellfire for eternity for the momentary pleasure of taking a dick up your ass?" 

"Oh, believe me, the pleasure's not so momentary." Brucie offered back with a leer. 

"You will say the words, and cleave this man to your eternal soul by the rites of holy matrimony, or I will put a bullet in your head." 

"Don't got to make a federal case out of it.' Brucie muttered and rolled his eyes. "I do hereby marry this random guy you pulled out of a crowd." 

"Then by the powers invested in my by the State of Tennessee, I now pronounce you married and doomed to an eternity together, being tortured by the demons of the flame. If any man attempts to end this union, the entire Klan will recognize it as a sign. We will be validated; having proved that even when given everything you want, you still will fall to the wayside and live in the gutter. The sanctity of marriage had been defiled by you and your divorce shall prove that the klan is right." 

"Don't you mean klorrect?" Bruce asked, honestly just to be a bastard. 

Greensleeves stopped talking, all the better to aim his gun at Bruce. Again. 

Bruce sighed. 

"Enough!" Wonder Woman called, her command not needing the help of the amphitheater to be heard. Gracefully, she floated down and yanked the gun from over the head of the enraptured cock as she did so. "Your hostages are safe. The authorities and the JL are here to take you into custody." 

A red blur, some shouts of surprise, and the klan was disarmed. Well, from the outside of their robes anyway. Bruce notice the press was gone, though their cameras were still on tripods and recording. Cops ringed the top of the amphitheater, a maneuver the klan should have used, if they had the full twelve terrors Greensleeves had threatened Bruce with, instead of the eight idiots. 

Slowly, Greensleeves raised his hands in surrender, a move that the other klansmen were slow to copy. But Greensleeves began to talk. He started in about how the dissolution of this forced marriage would somehow prove that loving same-sex couples weren't capable of commitment. And also, him and Clark would be repeatedly raped and tortured in hell. 

A blur, and Flash grinned at them from his place beside Wonder Woman, holding the weapons that had been under the robes. "Shut up already." Flash slowed down enough to articulate every syllable. "We get it, you hate people. Now let's go to jail where you'll be able to talk with lots of like-minded racists and fight with the gangs." 

Flash then moved, stealing handcuffs from the cops and handcuffing the bad guys. Slowly, the cops realized what had happened and moved over to read the bad guys their Miranda rights. 

With a sigh, Bruce made his way over to the nearest amphitheater step. The stone was cold under his butt, but this wasn't Brucie's first rodeo. As a witness, and a heavily involved witness, he'd have to be checked over by the EMTs, give a statement, answer random questions asked by random cops. So the cold step wasn't that comfortable, but he was going to be here for a while, and it was better than standing. So much for making patrol. 

sB _Sb_ Bs

2:30 AM and Bruce was yawning. Not because he was sleepy, as he was routinely up far later than this, but because he was bored. So bored. He was in a spotlight here, and couldn't relax, or stop being Brucie. While pretending to be playing games on his phone he'd worked on some new designs, but his WEpadd was almost out of power. He tried to think of new ways to extend the battery life, even while conserving his last bit of power for something important. 

The JL had left, or he'd have flirted his way to Diane for the cameras and asked for a new battery. Who knew what Clark was out doing, as he could at least be counted on to provide a distraction. There was no other reason Bruce would want Clark around while he sat on the ground and looked up at the stars, the ones that Gotham's light pollution hid so well. 

"I can see Dick being a fan of the Muppets." Clark said as he settled down beside Bruce. 

Bruce didn't move in, because the night wasn't cool enough to share body warmth, though Bruce knew he could fake a shudder if he needed to. "Cass. Needed something to make her focus on the words, instead of the body language." 

"You "needed" the Muppets? Never thought I'd hear you admit to needing anything, but especially not the Muppets." 

"She kept asking me to explain the sex scenes. Why are these two mating when they hate each other, this woman doesn't enjoy having her breasts touched. How is she fucking him without a dick?" Bruce shook his head, ignoring Clark's blush. "Talking about sex toys and pegging was way easier than explaining why people who don't like each other are constantly having sex." 

"What kind of movies were you watching?" 

"Some of it was from porn, Jason thought it would be funny to show her that. She now thinks he has a gun fetish and crinkles her nose whenever she has to touch his guns." 

Clark laughed at that, but was careful to keep it quiet, so nobody would pay attention to this area of the crime scene. 

"Not to agree with Greensleeved dickhead, but I never really thought about the violence and sex in movies until I had kids. I don't mind watching it, but I don't want my kids to see it, even though I know my kids can handle it. That's hypocrisy." 

"I'm pretty sure that's just trying to be a good parent." Clark shrugged and looked away, as if that would hide one of his radiant smiles from the most observant man he knew. "Bruce, they made you some kind of present. I don't know what it is, I didn't overhear that much as I changed clothes, but I do know that you are going to be very appreciative." 

"Good you gave me a warning then. Brucie is good but even he needs to prepare in order to appreciate opossum soup." 

"You don't make soup out of possum!" Clark sounded horrified at the mere idea. "You make chili." 

Bruce snorted, but didn't ask if Clark was making that up or if he'd ever tried it. "What's the weirdest thing you've ever eaten?" 

Clark considered. "Off planet or on?" 

"I try not to eat off planet, as I'm not sure what's safe for me to eat. Let's stick with on.” 

"Probably that flavorless jello stuff on Kepler 9. It was supposed to coat the stomach so you never felt hungry, so I took it like a jello shot. It made my stomach glow, I didn't eat for a week, and I didn't poop for two." 

Bruce started to laugh, but the abrupt way the noise was cut off had to deal with the group walking their way. 

"Here comes your fan club." Clark mentioned softly, and got a subtle kick to his ankle for his efforts. 

The sheriff had four people with him, who were clearly not members of the law enforcement community. 

"Mr. Wayne, it'll be awhile before ya'll can leave, we've got a preliminary investigation to get through. But, we are done with you for tonight." Tipping his hat, the sheriff walked away, letting the Bruce see the same kid that had escorted him to amphitheater at the start of the night. 

"Mr. Wayne, your speech was real nice to hear, and we didn't even get the chance to applaud for you." Mattie said. "I knew you weren't planning on staying the night, but since you've got to, we fixed it up. It's no honeymoon suite, but we'd be please if ya'll would accept." 

"Oh, wow, Mattie, that's amazing. You didn't have to, but I will appreciate anything soft and dry right now." Brucie said, causing Mattie's face to light up. 

"It's back this way, if you and your husband would follow me." 

"Husband?" Bruce said, halfway to his feet. 

"Didn't the sheriff tell you? That klan man is actually a preacher, one of those fringe Baptist groups, so I guess you’re married."

"Oh." Bruce said, and let his strong legs get him to the top of the amphitheater quickly. He waited for the others to catch up, Brucie firmly in control. Mattie only took a few lungfulls of air before he was talking again. He kept up a steady stream of words as he lead the way. 

"I never really looked into marriage, as it only recently became an option for me, so I don't know if you have to get legal permission before the church ceremony. But I imagine around these part, church ceremony is more important. That's actually one of the complaints I heard when I came out, my Pops telling me I'd always be living in sin, since I couldn't get married. I don't think the klan knew who they was dealing with, since they had to ask your name, Mr. Wayne, and Mr. Kent did a good job by saying your name was Wayne, which could be a first or last name. They still didn't know, so they can watch for Wayne to divorce Kent, but as long as Mr. Kent ain't the first one in the paper, they'll probably overlook it. Sure, it'd be a nice story, forced marriage to prove gays can't stay faithful turns into perfect wedded bliss, but we know it's not going to take. Queer people don't really get those kind of fairy tales. Oh, this is the building up here, it's not much, it's the women's bathroom, sort off. If you used the men's, instead of a tree, you'd have seen how one side of the building was showers, and the other was toilets. For some reason, they built the women's the same size as the men, and then decided they didn't need as many facilities for women. Guess they figured women don't like camping so why give them the chance to try it." 

"Misogynistic bastards." Some behind them muttered, though it wasn't a comment anyone disagreed with. 

"So the toilets and showers got crammed into one side of the women's building, and the other side is a long empty room. They store some stuff in it, and gave us a key so we could store stuff for the event in there. It's cinder blocks and windows for air conditioning, but lots of people donated stuff to make you comfortable, so we really hope it's okay." With something like a nervous shrug, Mattie knocked on the unmarked door. 

It opened and three giggling campers came outside. Mattie held the door open, letting Bruce and Clark walk in. The cleaning supplies had been shoved to the walls, and covered with bath towels and tarps. A lone toilet, unattached to anything, held bouquets of wildflowers in the bowl and cistern. Some old looking wood had been nailed into a bed-like shape, or the edges of one, holding a pile of sleeping bags and sheets into a nest. An old gallon ice-cream bucket sat next to the bed, holding several bottles of lube and about a year’s supply of condoms. Camper's candles, candle powered lanterns, and a couple of fragrant beeswax candles had been stationed throughout the room, and the giggling group that just left had been lighting them. 

"It might be a bit much," Mattie broke the silence, kind of nervous. "I guess we presumed a bit. You don't have to use anything, or you can, or whatever. You were forced into the wedding, we thought you might at least enjoy the wedding night, since you seemed to know each other. But if that's not your relationship, we can find someplace else for Mr. Kent to sleep." 

"Gosh," Clark muttered, a hint of a blush on his face. "I'm kind of embarrassed about how obvious I must be. This is still really sweet of you all, Mattie." 

"It's perfect." Brucie turned a full smile on Mattie, and then a much different one on Clark. "Clark, you old romantic, I never suspected you felt that way. It might be a bit soon for a long term investment, but I can make sure you enjoy tonight." 

Clark let his blush be seen, which let the crowd giggle. Brucie put a hand around his waist to pull him toward the center of the room, letting Mattie close the door behind them. Bruce looked to see they were alone before letting go of Clark. Even without his advanced hearing, Clark could hear the group laughing, talking, thrilled they'd done something good. So they'd have to stay in character, at least audibly, for a while. 

Clark remembered some movie where they wanted to imply sexual relations and had banged the headboard against the wall. Sure, he had a photographic memory and could easily recall exactly what movie that was, but Bruce was stripping. His pants were wet, so they were the first off. Then his WEpadd was pulled out of a coat pocket, plugged into an electrical socket Clark hadn't even seen. Turning on some app or other, Bruce took off the rest of his clothes, so Clark did as well. 

"Block's digital recordings." Bruce muttered soft enough that Clark almost didn't hear it. But then Bruce wasn't talking, he was looking at a naked and half aroused Clark. Bruce shook his head, but dropped his boxers. 

"Come on husband," Brucie said, and it was only because it was Brucie's voice that Clark was able to focus in on the rest of the words. "Lie back in the nest, let me give you a 'welcome to wedded bliss' blowjob." 

"But what if I want to get to know how you taste? Maybe by eating you out?" 

Outside, someone choked on an inhale of air. Their audience was still there, then. 

"Guess we'll just have to take turns." Brucie offered, and Clark was very glad he didn't choke on his inhale. 

"You're the expert, husband." Clark's voice was striving for innocent, and at complete odds with the seductive position he took as he lowered himself into the nest of sleeping bags. On his back, up on his elbows, Clark spread his legs but put the right one up at an angle, to kind of draw attention to his erection. 

Bruce rolled his eyes, but laid on his stomach, so his head was right over Clark's erection. Pointedly, noisily, Bruce rummaged through the condoms, playing up the idea of safe sex to his audience. Selecting one, the look on his face was pleased, and not about doing anything safe. Bruce opened the wrapper but instead of putting it on either of their waiting erections, he put the condom in his mouth. Clark wanted to ask, very much so, but then a smirking Bruce slowly deep throated him. The sensation of warmth and heat was so much, so perfect that Clark didn't realize Bruce had put the condom on him until Bruce released his cock. 

"Where the hell did you learn that?" Clark asked, his voice as deep as if he'd been the one deep throating. 

"Party trick, so at some party or other." Brucie responded. But it was Bruce's smug face that promised Clark hadn't seen all of his tricks yet. 

"I'm not as innocent as you think." Clark reminded him. This wasn't even the first time Bruce had deep throated him, yet Clark had still reacted like it was. He needed to get a little of his own back here, even though that didn't really ever work around Bruce. It might work on Brucie, though. 

Bruce went back to the leisurely blow job, so it took a minute or two for Clark to return to his thought. He needed to get a little creative to impress Brucie. Manhandling Bruce was easy, which meant Bruce was allowing Clark to put him on his hands and knees, mouth still on Clark’s cock. They were about the same height, but Bruce's legs were longer, while Clark's torso was longer. With only a little bit of floating, when Clark leaned over, he found he could lick into Bruce's ass. 

Bruce stilled for a moment, and then moaned into the feeling. His back sagged, so that Clark had a better angle on his ass, and Bruce went back to his blowing. Clark let himself make as much noise as he wanted, licking, sucking, and biting at the flesh before him. Eventually, when the drip of Bruce's precome was audible, Clark let his thumb rub between Bruce's balls and asshole. 

A moment later, lubed fingers started playing with Clark's own asshole, as he was floating off the ground and there was room for this. Finding his prostate, Bruce used his thumb on Clark's taint, closing the circuit between Clark's cock and prostate, causing him to come with a howl. It echoed around the long room, but there were no sounds of triumph from their audience. 

After a moment, or ten, Clark managed to take an x-ray look around. Their audience had moved on to their own tents, where, yes, there was a great deal of sex happening. Except for the asexual's tent, where there seemed to be a massive cuddle pile that looked really comfortable. With nothing distracting him, Clark was able to turn all his attention on making Bruce come without having his cock touched. 

It took focus, persistence, an alien tongue, and Bruce's cooperation, but it was worth it. Bruce came, untouched, his moan and soft bite enough to remind Clark that's he'd developed a second erection while Bruce warmed his cock. When Bruce reached up to rub at Clark's prenium, Clark knew Bruce was back in the game and let himself come down Bruce's throat for a second time. 

This time, Bruce slipped out from under Clark, letting Clark's cock go as he settled into the nest. Clark eventually floated around to lay with Bruce, but had to pull off the condom before starting to snuggle. It was yellow, smelled vaguely of bananas, and had ruptured at some point. Clark turned to see Bruce's knowing smirk. 

"Sorry, guess I'm hard on the equipment." Clark really wanted to ask if Bruce had been okay with swallowing, but Bruce had proved he could get out of the hold at any point, so it would be insulting to ask. 

"Only the banana flavored novelty equipment." Bruce shrugged it off. "Wake me up the candles catch us on fire." 

Clark smiled at the order, mainly because Bruce's eyes were closed, and let Bruce fall asleep without further talking. Practicing his control, which he knew Bruce would appreciate, Clark blew each candle out, one by one, without moving from Bruce's side. Soon, he was the only one who could appreciate the softness and beauty of a sleeping Bruce. 

sB _Sb_ Bs

**Author's Note:**

> [Buy Me a Coffee?](https://ko-fi.com/W7W35853)


End file.
